


Dirty Boys

by phantisma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-31
Updated: 2008-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:18:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Largely just PWP.  A hard hunt leaves both boys...um...dirty.  What follows only makes them dirtier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Boys

It's three thirty in the morning after a long night and a dirty hunt and fighting.

Sam feels grimy and there's mud inside his shoes, on his clothes. Dean's covered in it, his once white shirt gone brown and grey. They squish as they walk out of the rain drenched cemetery.

Dean's gone quiet and still as they get out of the car at the motel. Sam knows it's up to him to bridge the gap this time. Up to him to bring Dean out of himself.

Dean stiffens as Sam touches his back, pulls away slightly. "Not now."

"Yes, now." Sam counters.

Dean sighs. "Sam, I'm tired. I'm filthy. Not now."

Sam's hand snakes around his brother's waist from behind, his hand slipping through mud to his brother's cock, holding it through layers of mud and muck and wet, cold denim.

"Always have been filthy, Dean." Sam whispers. "Why should that stop me?"

Dean struggles as Sam guides him into the room, but it only goes so far, then Dean stands still, letting Sam's hands pull his clothes from him. His skin is clammy, cold. But it's okay, Sam is going to warm him right up.

He leaves Dean standing there just a few steps from the door and goes to the duffle bag on the table. He opts for the waterproof one, because Dean is right, this needs to end in the shower. It's just a bonus that it vibrates.

Dean raises an eyebrow as Sam returns to him, holding the blue jelly cock ring in his hand. "Really?"

Sam nods, going to one knee to work the thing on. The little vibrating egg sits just under his cock, right up against his balls. All his handling of Dean's cock has gotten it hard. Sam grins and stands up. "Dirty, Dean." He flicks the switch and Dean's eyes close, his body rocking as the egg vibrates against him.

Sam goes back to the bag and pulls out the bottle of lube and the big dildo with the base. Perfect for sitting on once Sam got it up inside him. Dean's eyes are huge when he sees it and Sam just smiles, patting the chair. "Come here Dean."

"Sam." Dean stops, wipes his mouth. Sam can feel the battle. The part of him that wants this against the part of him who still can't admit that he does. His steps are slow as he comes, his gait marked by the hardness of his cock.

"Hands on the table, Dean." Sam says softly. He never needs to be rough with his words, it's the rough of his hands that Dean needs, and once he lets go of the battle, Dean gives in, sighing a little as he puts his hands on the table.

Sam takes his time to arrange him, pulling back on his hips, spreading his feet. There's a soft blush creeping in under the freckles and the mud. Sam wets his fingers with lube and pushes them up inside Dean. Dean moves forward, as if to get away, then relaxes back onto Sam.

Sam's hands are dirty and the contrast against the white of Dean's skin is making him want to hurry this along, his cock tight against the constraining wetness of his own mud caked jeans.

He gets three fingers in, opening them up and pressing them against Dean's inner walls. He wants to hurry, but not hurt him. This isn't about pain, it's about letting go of whatever it is that's eating away inside him. Sam's hand leaves Dean and he sags against the table.

Sam lubes up the cock, nine inches long with big balls to keep it from vanishing up inside him and a good two and a half inches in diameter. Sam lets his left hand rest on Dean's back, just above his ass as he guides the dildo to his hole. Dean breathes out and just before he inhales again, Sam pushes in.

Dean pounds a hand on the table, once, twice, his head dropping forward. Sam pulls the dildo out, then shoves it back in, deep and hard.

"Okay, sit." Sam's hands guide him, pulling him back into the chair, helping him situate. His eyes are closed, his hands clenched tight. Sam watches him wriggle until he's comfortable…or as comfortable as he could be with that up inside him. When his eyes open again, Sam smiles for him, touches his cheek. "You okay?"

Dean licks his lips and nods tightly.

Sam presses Dean's legs open, as wide as the chair allows. The only sound in the room is Dean's breathing and the buzzing of the vibrating egg under the cock ring. It's dark, with only the vague light of the motel parking lot lights seeping in around the thin curtains.

"Hands on the chair." Sam guides Dean's hands to the arms of the chair. "Don't let go."

Sam unzips himself, easing his cock out of its wet prison. Dean licks his lips again, his tongue pink and wet and sliding over those lips like sin itself come to tempt him. Not that Sam needs tempting. He strokes over his cock before offering it up to his brother, encouraging him to open his mouth.

At first Dean tries to be helpful, his tongue sliding over Sam's cock, up under it to tickle at the tender place just below the head, but Sam doesn't want the game, not now. He pushes his hips forward, his cock sliding over Dean's tongue and deep into the back of his throat.

Dean's lips are spit-slick and shiny as the light of a passing car glides through the cracks in the curtains, spread around Sam's cock obscenely. Sam holds the back of his head, pulling him closer, rocking his body on the dildo in his ass.

Dean moans around his cock, his breath rasping harshly through his nose. Sam's jeans creak, and he leaves mud on Dean's face as he pulls nearly out of his mouth. Sam taps Dean's left hand. "Hold the cock. I want to watch you fuck yourself."

His hand lifts and slides under him. His thighs flex as he finds the position to lift himself. He rises up and sinks, slowly at first, but gaining speed. Sam holds his cock and watches. "Such a slut, Dean." Sam murmurs as Dean's body moves and his mouth falls open. "So beautiful."

Sam steps back in as Dean's noises change to ones that indicate he's getting close to coming. His hand grabs Dean's cock, pulls on it in time to his fucking. "You going to come, Dean?"

Dean nods, his head bobbing in haphazard fashion. His teeth sink into his lower lip, already red and swollen with need and lust and the taste of Sam's cock. He thrusts up into Sam's hand, leaning forward as he comes, spilling into Sam's palm. He's panting and still mostly hard when he looks up, his eyes gone soft and sated.

Sam shows him the come painting his hand. "Dirty boy." Sam closes that hand around his own cock, spreading Dean's come over it before reaching for Dean's head and guiding his mouth back to Sam's cock.

Dean sucks greedily at it, at the come and cock and Sam, and there isn't much hope he's going to last long, not when Dean's cheeks hollow out and he pulls his head back against the weight of Sam's hand, sucking his way all the way up to the tip, his tongue swirling around the head before he sucks Sam back into his mouth, taking him deep, his face pressed against Sam's wet jeans, swallowing rapidly.

"Damn!" Sam's coming, and Dean's swallowing and Sam has to pull back, pull away, taking his sensitive cock from Dean's eager mouth. Sam tugs on him and he stands, letting Sam's hand circle round him and ease the dildo out. He adjusts slowly, his head on Sam's shoulder, both of them slowly getting their breathing back to normal. "How about a shower?" Sam asks softly once he's recovered.

"How about getting this thing off me?" Dean counters, looking down at the cock ring.

"Maybe later." Sam says, grinning. "I'll turn it off though." His hand slides down, presses the switch. Dean sags against him. He runs a finger through the mud adorning Dean's face. "Dirty, dirty boy."

Dean looks at him, his own hand pressing to Sam's neck and holding it up. "Look who's talking."


End file.
